Page 29 of The Exile's Curse

Chloe shook her head. "No. I hadn't really thought about it." Where they could, diplomats usually studied languages. Chloe knew Anglion and Illvyan and had a smattering of Kessian, the language spoken in Kesseret, one of Illvya's largest neighbors. She had intended to work on improving that first and then decide which others to add. But sometimes, like now, it seemed, there wasn't time for the old-fashioned way. When there was a need to learn a language fast, then a reveille was the answer. A sanctii who understood something of the language shoving that knowledge into a mage's brain via magic. A process she had never before needed to undertake. A process she understood to be somewhat painful.

"If time allowed, we would give you a chance to get the basics an easier way," Honore said. "But unless you have an exceptional skill for language that you failed to mention, then I'm afraid you'll be joining most of us in using the reveille." She shrugged. "We are fortunate that we have two sanctii who have spent sufficient time in Andalyssia to have learned the language well enough to make it possible. Their experience is a few years out of date, but Andalyssia is not a society that changes rapidly, so it should be enough to get us by. We'll have language practice on the journey, too. That will have to be enough. Most of the Andalyssian nobles speak Illvyan, so we will be able to make ourselves understood. But we also need to be able to understand the things they don't want us to."

Chloe nodded. That was a lesson she'd learned from Anglion. It had been frustrating and scary to be surrounded by people speaking a language she knew little of, and she'd worked hard to learn Anglish as fast as possible. "I understand, sir," she said. "Is there anything else?"

"No. You have your orders, Lieutenant. And an opportunity. I expect you to do well with both."

In other words, don't complain and don't fuck it up and this will be good for your career.She caught Imogene's eye, and her friend nodded encouragingly.

"Yes, Colonel," she said. "I understand. I won't let you down."

Chapter 10

"My lord, another briefing packet has arrived."

Kristof hovered in the doorway of Lucien's office, looking somewhat disheveled. Lucien knew how he felt. Since Aristides had ordered him to Andalyssia, he had spent far too many hours locked in this room, trying to organize the estate for three months, file any outstanding paperwork with the judiciary, and reread his case notes from the trial of the Ashmeister Elannon as well as everything else about the history of Illvyan-Andalyssian relations he could get his hands on.

It added up to a mountain of reading and sending Fidel and Kristof in all directions to deliver orders, fetch various other servants, field questions, and help him pack. None of the three of them had slept more than six hours a night in a good week or so.

At least Colonel Brodier hadn't insisted on him having a reveille. He'd learned Andalyssian that way once before. Luckily, he had a good head for languages and seemed to have retained most of it. Which had come in handy when he'd discovered some documents in the palace’s archives relating to the mining treaties that were actually written in Andalyssian.

Even Kristof's good humor seemed to have slipped as he stared down at the leather-bound bundle of papers in his hands.

"Did the messenger say it was urgent?" Lucien asked. He wasn't sure he was capable of reading another word. And he only had about twenty minutes before he'd promised to present himself back in his bedroom so his valet and Fidel could finalize his packing.

"No, my lord," Kristof said.

Well, that was a relief. It could wait until he was onboard the damned navire. He intended to spend as much of the journey as possible in his cabin, finishing his preparation and, hopefully, catching up on his sleep.

"Put it in the valise that's going to my cabin, then," he told Kristof. "Then you can take the rest of the night off. I don't think there's anything more to be done here. Just make sure you do what Fidel tells you while I'm away, yes?"

"Yes, my lord." Kristof smiled at him. "I will."

The lad had been disappointed that Lucien wasn't taking any servants with him. But he could tie his own damned cravats, and the palace at Deephilm would provide him any services he needed for laundry and such. And Colonel Brodier would have plenty of junior officers and ensigns eager to assist.

He watched Kristof do an about-face and leave. Then he sat to check his notes again, making sure there was nothing he absolutely needed to deal with before he departed. Ten minutes later, he was satisfied there wasn't. He shoved the papers back into a neat enough pile. Fidel would tidy up his office while he was away.

His hand froze as he reached automatically for the heavy bronze paperweight to lay on top of them. The stylized raven had been a birthday present from Chloe and Charl. The one reminder he'd allowed himself.

He'd considered sending Chloe a note to inform her he would be out of town for a time and that she was perfectly safe socializing in the capital and moving around the barracks at the palace—he'd made sure not to go there since he'd heard she'd joined the mages—but common sense had thought better of the impulse. He doubted she’d appreciate any sort of contact from him. And the rumor mill would inform her that he was away soon enough.

Perhaps two month’s distance was just what he needed, and when he returned, he would have regained some sanity when it came to her. By then she might also be away on a mission, giving him even more time to deal with his unruly heart.

Perhaps. But somehow, he knew that was as unlikely as the brass raven taking flight.

Chloe gazed up the gangplank of the navire d'avion, stomach turning uneasily. The steep boards were no different to any ship she'd ever boarded, but this one didn't sail on water. Four days was barely enough time to reconcile herself to the fact that she was actually going to Andalyssia, let alone to traveling on a ship that flew through air to get there.

One of Imogene's creations. She trusted her friend’s abilities, and Imogene had reassured her several times that the navire was safe, but the reality was still daunting.

The navire would save them weeks of travel. The alternative was travel by charguerre. Magically powered iron carriages drawn by magically powered iron oxen were designed to be tough and fast, not luxurious. Bone-rattling was the politest term Imogene used for them. So a month of discomfort versus a week trusting her best friend’s skills as a mage ingenier and the strength of the mage and sanctii teams who would power the flight. She’d wanted adventure. She was about to have one.

An ensign bustled up and started checking the labels pasted on her trunks. There was an embarrassing number of them. Gowns took up far more space than uniforms, and the frantic work of Helene’s team of seamstresses meant Chloe now had more dresses fit for a royal wedding and its associated festivities than normal clothes. But apparently there must have been advance warning of the amount of baggage she would be bringing, as the ensign didn't bat an eyelid, just ticked the trunks off, asked which one she wanted taken to her cabin, and pointed her toward the gangplank.

She hefted the bag on her shoulder and tightened her grip on the other small leather case she carried—full of medicinal herbs and other sundry magical supplies. Overkill, perhaps, when the mission had any number of fully trained earth witches, but she liked to be prepared.

Besides, she still had the lingering edges of the dire headache caused by the reveille, and she'd rather treat that herself than ask one of the others.

The gangplank swayed slightly beneath her feet but seemed sturdy enough. Still, she tightened her grip on her travel case. It contained, amongst other things, a small fortune's worth of Imogene's jewels. She didn't want those tumbling into the water.

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